a doe browses the lilies,
the poison ivy

while moonlight lingers
on the tallest pine.

Three bodies
moving in the dark.

dawn is a faded cardinal
over the worn stone wall

enough time for a new vine
to wrap around the mailbox latch.

two hawks and a wasp
circle the sun

too slow, too easily caught
by little hands

the Boston man at the next table
says grace, beneath
the image of Vishnu.

the fox crosses our path
on soft summer feet

then slips beneath
the feather and fern

of morning

throws out ruby
and green fishscale
just ahead of himself